Saturday
March 2nd, 2013
A new month and spring was fast approaching. A period of the year in the Mojave where it wasn't always insufferably hot but mostly delightfully warm. Mojave Rose High School was barren, save for a collection of students mingling around the garage. The school's tankery team had a fun day in store for them, even if it was dedicated to repairing a near totaled tank. The SU-100 had arrived late last night, it was placed on the dirt road. The team surrounded the vehicle, studying all the damage it has sustained.
"This is even worse than in the picture." Sage commented.
"Can we really fix it? Let alone in a day?"
Conversation increased as the team gave their opinions regarding the situation. Sensing an opportunity to boost morale, Valarie hopped right on top the SU-100 which grabbed everyone's attention.
"Damn, you're nimble!" exclaimed Jacqueline.
"Okay, everyone, listen closely. Each and every one of you know your machines by heart. Any problem that you find is fixed almost immediately and with ease. I don't want to hear a word that we can't do this. I know we can. We've all overcome so much to get this far into the tournament and I'll be damned to let a repair job be what breaks us!"
With fervor, and a tinge of fear, the team in unison exclaimed their readiness for the task at hand. A few moments later, Buchanan arrived. Alone.
"No Mister Redwood?" Valarie inquired.
"Nope. He has meetings at the district office. How fun for him, huh?"
Buchanan approached the SU-100.
"Rough shape. Rough shape indeed."
She turned around.
"Let's perform a full inspection. Catalog each and every bit that needs attention. Valarie, you and your crew will handle that. Everyone else, will get all the tools out and get the spare parts out of their packaging."
The team mobilized the instant she stopped talking, Moist went within the garage to get any tool that might be useful in the repair. Spare parks were taken out of the boxes they arrived in and laid out on the garage floor, all neat and organized. Valarie and her crew were examining the SU-100. Emma and Ashley looked at the outside of the machine while Heather and Valarie checked the interior. The inside has seen better days. In the driver's position, Heather attempted to move the steering and gear levels but none budged. She pressed the ignition switch and the engine tried to start but was just repeating a harsh sputtering sound. Ten seconds of holding down the switch and she gave up. The gauges were misaligned with the speedometer outright missing its needle. The most glaring issue was in regards to the driver's hatch. The distinct lack of one, actually. Points where the hatch would have been mounted on showed signs of tear. In the fighting compartment, Valarie found her own fair share of issues. A peek at the gunsight told her that it would need to be recalibrated. The elevation and traverse controls were abnormally stiff. The cannon breech was opened and showed it to be absolutely covered with filth. It was normal stuff that can be expected but there was one issue that made Valarie gasp. It was the most dangerous damage a tank can sustain.
"Heather. Come crawl over here." Valarie called.
With some maneuvering, she made her way to her commander.
"Yeah?"
"Take a look at that." Valarie said, pointing to the inner wall.
Heather looked and saw what she saw. On the interior steel wall was a moderately-sized crack. It exposed something that was within the wall, black in appearance. It too was cracked and bits of it were flaking off.
"Christ, that's the protective carbon lining. The tumble down the hill must've been really bad for the steel to crack." Heather remarked.
Valarie reached out and grabbed a chunk of the carbon. It was extremely brittle and the slightest motions of her hand caused it to disintegrate.
"Geez. That's...not suppose to happen." Valarie said, looking at fragmented pieces of carbon.
Heather got a closer look at the lining and noticed something else.
"Hmm...a string of numbers? Ah...it's the serial number. That might be useful."
She took out her phone and took a photo of the number. Good timing as the piece of carbon that had the number etched on fell off and was destroyed as it hit the floor of the compartment. The two girls got out of the vehicle. Emma and Ashley finished their inspections and the entire crew went to Buchanan to report their findings.
"Alright ladies, what's the damage?"
Emma was the first to speak.
"The damage shown in the picture is basically what we found. When we checked the engine, that is when we found something new."
"Will it need to be replaced?" Buchanan asked.
"Not really replaced but more...reassembled." Ashley added.
"Okay. Heather. Valarie. What did you find?"
"Every piece of equipment for the driver to do their job will need attention." Heather said.
"Does that include the transmission?"
"No."
"How can you tell?"
"I can feel it."
"Alright, I'm trusting you on that. Valarie, what did you see?"
"All aspects of the gun with need to be tended to. But the main thing that grabbed me and Heather's attention was a crack in the inner wall."
"A crack? Well, that's rather serious."
"What's more serious is that the crack exposed the carbon lining. When I touched a piece of it, it fell apart in my hand."
"It...what?" Buchanan asked, now serious.
"The carbon disintegrated in my hand." Valarie repeated.
Buchanan's face was now of grave concern. She paced around the dirt for a few moments as she processed the information. Unpleasant memories made a resurgence. She shook her head.
"The protective lining must have deteriorated. Impossible to say for how long without a specialist taking a look. The same specialist would also be the one replacing the carbon."
She sighed.
"Guess we're paying a maintainer regardless."
"I took a picture of the serial number. It fell apart after I did." Heather informed.
"Send that photo to me. It'll be useful..somehow. Well, this was unexpected. Then again, I expected to find something unexpected. Does that make sense?
The four girls didn't know how to respond to her query.
"Ahh...anyway. Let's repair what we can for today."
The T-44 crew rejoined the team and assisted them in preparations, With a motion of Buchanan's hand, four team members were carrying hydraulic jacks. Each was placed underneath the vehicle at a corner. In tandem, they raised the machine just a few inches of the ground. That is all that they needed. The SU-100 had four drive sprockets and ten roadwheels in total. Each of them displayed damaged that made them inoperable. Each of these parts had a team member work on them, tools in hand, to carefully demount them from the tank. The sounds of bolts being twisted were something the team found satisfying. What was more satisfying was the parts coming off nice and easy. Free from the tank, they were placed in a corner of the garage.
Now it was time for a deep clean. A team of two, each equipped with power washers, blasted the vehicle with pressurized water. All the grime that had clung to the tank were eradicated. The graffiti, too, stood no chance. It's vulgar words deleted. In no time at all did the green paint job of Soviet tanks shine once again. It was approaching midday when the water stopped spraying. The SU-100 was beginning to look good. The replacement sprockets and roadwheels were installed and fastened tight. The jacks were disengaged and the tank was gingerly placed back onto the ground.
"Nicely done. The driver's position is what needs to be worked on next. Get to it."
The steering and shifting levers were replaced with ones made this century. The metal was polished and was pleasant to look at. The gauges were recalibrated and the speedometer once again had a needle. A new driver's hatch was installed, with the hinges that held it in place hammered back into shape.
"It's all coming together now." Valarie commented.
"Is the gear in neutral?" Buchanan asked.
"Yeah." answered one of the team.
"Good. Layout the new tracks in front of the tank. Align them as perfectly as possible as you can with the roadwheels."
Both sets of new tracks were dragged out of the garage by a small group of students as their weight was considerable. They were placed in front of the roadwheels, as perfect as they could manage.
"What now?" asked Robin.
"The easy part." Buchanan replied with a smile.
She pointed to the boys.
"You're definitely helping...along with everyone else."
Buchanan gestured the team to follow and situated themselves in front of the SU-100.
"Guys...just a question. You know those Pyramids in Egypt? How did they move those big stone blocks to make 'em?"
The team was perplexed over the seemingly random question. Ray took a stab at it.
"Um. I think a bunch of people just pulled them on ropes."
Buchanan grabbed and waved the steel tow cable in front of everyone. They all realized what their instructor wanted them to do.
"Oh." Ray uttered.
"It's only thirty-five tons. Easy." he thought to himself.
Buchanan looked at Heather.
"Get in the drivers seat and get ready to break when I say."
"Got it."
Heather hopped in the vehicle and placed her foot just over the brake peddle, ready to slam it. Outside, the team split into two groups, each grabbing on to two steel cables. They hyped themselves up for what they were about to do.
"Do not push yourself too hard. This isn't a competition on who's the strongest. This sport is a team effort in all aspects. You're all far too young to have back pain."
"My six-foot ass must've not gotten that memo." Ray joked.
The team walked back a few steps which put tension on the cable.
"Pull!"
They pulled, grunting and straining underneath their breath. The steel cable was now perfectly straight as it was under great tension. The machine didn't move an inch at first but soon yielded to the combined strength of the team. Slowly and minutely, the roadwheels rotated. Inching toward the tracks. Buchanan watched intensely as the roadwheels came into contact with the tracks and slid into them. Only two minutes have gone by but for the people pulling, it felt like two centuries. Everyone's muscles were burning. Some had their arms shake as they were pulling with all their might. The tank continued to move slowly where then Buchanan yelled,
"Brake!"
The moment she heard her instructor's voice, Heather slammed on the brakes and the SU-100 halted. At the same instance, the team dropped the steel cable and look at their arms, which ached immensely. The 'easiest' part was done. They were all tired but the work on the tracks was not yet completed. A portion of the team, one each side of the tank, finally mounted the tracks onto the vehicle. As they were doing this, three students got permission to leave campus for a brief errand. A few minutes of work and the tracks were done. The team stood back and admired what they all accomplished. The outside of the SU-100 gave the impression that the machine was ready for a match. Yet, there was more to be done. For now, though, a break was in order.
"Time for a rest. As I recall, there is a potluck."
Suddenly forgetting their aches and sores, the team bolted back into the garage. Everyone brought something to contribute and it was what one would expect a bunch of teenagers to bring. Sodas of various flavors, though there was some fruit juices and water as well. Bags upon bags of potato chips, some of which were already torn into and being ravaged by the team. Cookies, both of the hard and soft variety, were abundant and placed in a tantalizing pile. For students who are more health-conscious, they brought fruit and vegetable trays. Others opted to make their own food tor bring. Chicken salad, nachos, muffins, fried chicken, and more. There was also, of course, enough paper and plastic plates, cups and cutlery to rival the great garbage patch in the Pacific. The three members who left earlier returned, each carrying boxes of pizza from a popular hot-and-ready chain. It was now the team could unwind and begin eating. Students filled their plates with food and ate with their crews at their tanks. As people were enjoying themselves, Buchanan walked around. There was a lot on her mind.
The exposed carbon lining was alarming. The fact that it was brittle was even more so. Buchanan could understand that a tumble down a hill could cause a crack in the inner walls. A bad one, but entirely possible. Yet it wouldn't make the carbon lining brittle. They were designed to withstand tank rounds of all calibers. It being brittle meant that it was deteriorated. For Buchanan's case, the carbon lining of her Sherman Easy Eight had a manufacturing defect which caused the material to decay far faster than it should have. Since 1990, the Association has worked much more closely with the protective carbon manufacture to not only erase the chances of a defect but to also improve the formula to make the material safer than ever.
At least, that is what the Association claims to have done.
Buchanan had only read their press release, one that she still has. When the specialist replaces the carbon, hopefully, they'll shed some light over all of this. Until then, she'll have a cookie or three. She walked as she ate, looking at all the crews in their own bubbles. It brought a smile to her face that only disappeared as fast as it came when she saw Heather. She was sitting quietly on top the T-44, listening intently to the conversation the rest of her crew was having. Her long black hair proved to be an excellent tool to hid most of her face. Whether this was just how her hair behaved or intentional, Buchanan didn't know for sure but was leaning toward the latter.
There was no doubt in her mind that Heather had some sort of mental issue. She was, however, puzzled on how to proceed. Sure, Buchanan wasn't the perfect example of a healthy mind, but, whatever Heather had was in another league entirely. Then an idea popped into her mind. She approached the T-44 crew.
"Hello ladies...Valarie, mind if we talk? One on one?"
"Uh, sure."
Buchanan led her to the garage office for privacy, with the door firmly closed. Buchanan sat where Redwood would've sat, with Valarie sitting just on the other side of the desk.
"It's about Heather. Tell me, Valarie. Has she ever acted...weird?"
"Heh...Heather is Heather. She has her odd quirks but that just what we love about her. Once you really get to know her, she's simply wonderful."
"No doubt about that. But, have you ever seen her showcase...troubling behavior?"
Valarie squirmed in her seat, slightly uncomfortable.
"Ahhh...well...there was this one time. With our first match with Bascom. She...lost her cool."
"Do share."
''It was their artillery. When they hit close to our tank, it rode her up the wall. The longer it happened, the angrier she became."
"Heather angry? That's quite the departure from her character."
"No kidding. Her rage reached its peak at the end of the match when, without orders, rammed the tank into Bascom's flag tank. That act got us the win. We never seen her very expressive, so when we saw her genuinely angry...it freaked us out a little."
Buchanan looked down at the desk briefly.
"Has she ever said anything about voices in her head?"
Valarie was taken aback over such a question. Her face one of confusion.
"Um? No? Never. Then again, I've only known her since the start of the semester."
"I see.."
Buchanan rose from the desk.
"Valarie, I'm going to ask a big favor from you. I want you to keep a close eye on her. Anything that she says or does that is concerning, you tell me. Okay?"
"I understand , Miss Buchanan."
"Thank you. Go back to your friends and eat up. We got more work to do with the SU and everyone needs their strength back up."
The team had fun with the little party they held. Soon, they returned to work on getting the machine fully operational. The engine demanded a lot of work to get that thing back in order. It wasn't destroyed but 'simply' necessitated reassembly. The engine hatches were open and some students peered in.
"Eeesh. Looks like a bomb went off in here." commented one.
"Oh, this'll be fun. No doubt." said another.
Parts that were freely laying around the engine compartment were taken out to be cleaned and inspected. What remained was the engine itself along with the bigger, vital components. With half a dozen hands working in the compartment, components were realigned and bolts refastened. Oil was replaced along with other fluids. The battery was checked with the reader reporting a satisfactory voltage. The engine itself was thoroughly cleaned and stains and gunk were taken care of. Outside, people were cleaning engine pars with steel brushes. Other than being filthy, they were in good shape. While all of this was occurring the fighting compartment was being refurbished. Most importantly was the gun. Every part that composed it needed attention.
A group tended to the cannon. The sight as cleaned and recalibrated. Elevation and traverse controls were greased and fine-tuned. The breech and striker were cleaned and tested. A click of the trigger produced a noise. A loud one. It startled some but signified that they were functioning properly. Then there was the barrel. One student outside shoved a cleaning down down it and pulled back and forth. A few quick motions and out came a cloud of vaporized powder, which blanketed the student with a black coat.
"This uniform was just washed only yesterday!" she complained.
Back at the engine, it was now being reassembled. Careful and tried hands hooked hoses, mounted bolts, installed fans, among other things. Once the last wrench was turned, everyone backed up. Eight hours ago, it looked like the SU-100 was destined to be sent to a scrapyard. Now, after their combined labor, it has been given new life.
"Heather, start the engine." Buchanan asked
At the press of the switch, the engine was resurrected. It roared as heather played with the throttle. It sounded so powerful, so healthy. Without being prompted, Heather turned the vehicle in place, with the team watching gleefully as the new tracks performed flawlessly. Buchanan rose her hand where then Heather stopped the engine.
"Just. Amazing. Though, before we call it a day, we need to do one more test."
She looked at the team and visualized what she wanted to happen.
"Alright. I want two people inside the tank. A gunner and a loader. Now, I am curious to see how many of you guys can ride on top of the tank. Figure it out for me, will ya? Do it safely!"
In a matter of moments, the top of the SU-100 was covered with most of the team. Much like how soldiers of the Red Army rode on top their tanks into battle. For those who couldn't find a safe space to ride, they would ride on top of the T-44.
"Valarie, with your crew, carry the rest of the team while you follow the SU."
"Okay, firstly, what are we doing?" Valarie questioned.
Buchanan walked over to a crate that Oceanside had sent along with the SU-100. From within, she pulled out a 100mm shell.
"I want to pop off a round."
She passed the shell into the tank.
"Secondly, who is driving?" Valarie continued.
"Me." Buchanan replied nonchalantly.
"Uh...uh...you..sure, Miss Buchanan?"
"I am. Get your tank ready."
Valarie went to her vehicle while Buchanan walked in front of the driver's hatch. After a brief hesitation and a huge breath, she climbed in and got herself settled. She felt that the air become stuffy. When she reached to the controls, it felt like she was moving through gelatin. When she finally grabbed on to them, she felt that her hands were becoming drenched with sweat. She moved her hand, resisted by some unseen force, to the ignition switch. She essentially punched ignition switch and the tank rumbled as the engine whined and roared. This jolt tensed her. Soon, she smelled the fumes of the exhaust as it reached her. All these sensations combined came extremely close to giving her a full-blown panic attack. She felt phantom pain of her body being burned. She was just a moment away from freaking out when she just closed her eyes and did some breathing. A few breathes later and her grip relaxed and her muscles were no longer tense.
Progress.
Honest to God progress.
She was one step to becoming the person she wanted to be. The emotion she felt was beyond liberating and empowering. More work was to be done but one hell of a hurdle was passed. Buchanan shifted gears and downed the SU-100 drove forward with the T-44 following right behind. The steel machines were driving to Crater Hill, the most ideal, and familiar, location to fire a large-caliber cannon. With the countless times the team has driven to his place, it was now a reflex at this point. They could drive there blindly. Upon their arrival, people who were riding on top of the tanks hopped off. Some were nauseous while most found the whole experience amusing. They all congregated off to the side. Buchanan got out of the SU, with a huge grin on her face.
"Hot damn, I still got it." she told herself, delighted.
"I thought you were a commander back in the day." Valarie asked.
"True. But when I first got into tankery I was a driver."
"For the Easy Eight?"
"Oh no, it was a different tank. Panzer IV with F2 specifications. Ahhh, she handled like a dream."
Heather nudged Ashley who was standing right beside her.
"See? Her tank was a girl too."
Ashley rubbed her face.
"Okay, Okay. You win. Gloat all you want. This isn't the bet, you know!"
Heather responded with a wink. Buchanan conversed with the two people within the SU-100.
"Load the shell and fire when I say."
She turned to the rest of the team.
"Get ready for the final test. Stand back a bit. Actually...stand back a lot."
The team gave the tank destroyer the space it demanded. Now, it was the moment of truth. Within the vehicle, the shell was slid into the breech.
"Ready!" yelled the gunner.
Buchanan simply let her arm fall to her side to signal. Then, an explosion of fire and vaporized powder came rushing out the barrel. The sound was incredibly satisfying to hear and feel, with the energy released giving everyone a tingling sensation. In less than a second, portions of the hill were ejected into the air as the projectile collided with the earth. This firing test told the team that their work was done. For Buchanan, there was still one more thing to do. The protective lining needed replacing. She would have to find a specialist to do the job as the team didn't have the means to do it themselves. They returned to the garage soon after and were dismissed. A good day for all involved.
Sunday
The SU-100 was gone. Taken. By specialists hired by Buchanan to replace the protective lining. It'll be a several hour job, they told her. She was at the garage office. All alone. She wouldn't be at the garage on Sunday, usually. Not since the team relaxed their schedule and only did practice on Saturdays. Feet up on the desk, she waited. Those specialists will call her when the job is completed and wanted to be here when the tank was returned. It was eerie to be in a place that you've known for so long to be a constant source of noise. Now it was dead silent. Perhaps she'll catch a glimpse at the alleged cryptid that is said to call this place its home. She chuckled softly. Who the hell believes that stuff? Heather? Huh. She would believe that sort of stuff. Buchanan regularly glanced at her phone, just sitting on the desk. That call will arrive any minute now. As time drew on, her vision grew weary as the intense boredom got to her. Then there was the sound of something vibrating.
It was them. The specialists.
"Hello?" Buchanan answered.
"Hi Miss Buchanan. We're all done here and the vehicle is en-route back to your garage."
"Cool. Cool. Just a question. How old was the lining?"
"Ah, thanks to the photo you have provided, we determined that the lining was manufactured in December 1985.
"1985? Before the new formula of the lining?"
"Sure does look like it. When we removed the lining, it was just in awful shape. Deterioration everywhere. It was so bad we just hosed out the carbon."
Her mouth was agape.
"Can you tell when this deterioration started?"
"Sure can. We examined a piece under a microscope and from the cracks that were analyzed, we can conclude with one hundred percent certainty that they have been forming for approximately two years.
They might as well told her the cracks formed yesterday. She kept her cool.
"When did the SU-100 get the old carbon lining?"
"We don't have that information."
"What? I thought all tank maintenance services shared service records for optimum efficiency?"
"If you're partners with the ATA, yes. Our business is not. There is this huge process that we just didn't want to deal with."
"Yeah, I can understand not wanting to deal with 'em. Anyway, thanks for your services."
"You're welcome. Miss Buchanan. At the risk of being unprofessional, but, the information you seek maybe with the previous owners of the SU-100."
Buchanan smiled.
"You've been a huge help. Your professionalism is second to none."
She hung up and set the phone down. Buchanan rested her head on the desk. There was this small yet slowly growing fear inside her. She hoped and prayed that it wasn't the case but the only way to be sure was to ask Oceanside about the SU's service record.
Thankfully, Valarie had a contact. One with considerable clout.
Monday
March 4th
The team was refining their skills with morse code. Save for one. Valarie, Buchanan, and Redwood were outside Room 34. They wanted some privacy.
"Is Oceanside's captain ready for the call?" Buchanan asked.
"Yes. We've been texting back and forth." Valarie answered.
"Go for it."
Valarie dialed. Redwood rested a hand on Buchanan's shoulder.
"Gabby, how serious is all this? I'm a bit out of the loop." he asked quietly.
"It's either very serious or not at all."
"Damn, it's one of those kinds of things."
"Ain't it always?"
Redwood nodded. Valarie then waved at both of them to grab their attention.
"Hello Sam...yeah nice to hear you too...Did you get the pictures of the repaired SU? Ha! Guess I am bragging. Anyway, Sam, you happen to have the service records of that thing? Cool. I can wait."
Valarie rested her phone against her neck.
"She's looking for them."
"Good. When she has them, ask when the SU-100 had its protecting lining checked."
"Got it."
A minute of being on hold and Sam returned to the phone.
"Hey, you got 'em? Great. Now, when was the last time the protective lining was checked?"
A brief silence.
"Oh. It wasn't checked? But replaced five years ago?"
Buchanan became pale as a ghost.
"Was the place that replaced the lining partnered with the ATA?"
Valarie conversed on the phone.
"Yes." she responded.
Buchanan felt her knees were weak, as if they were made of jelly. Just barely did she have the strength to remain standing.
"Valarie." she said, voice cracking.
"Give our thanks to Oceanside's captain. She's been a huge help."
Valarie bid thanks and farewell. She put away her phone.
"Now go back inside and resume your exercises."
Valarie entered Room 34. Buchanan walked around the dirt for a few moments before heading towards another building.
"Hey Martin. Anyone in this building?"
"Uh, no. No one should be."
Buchanan gave an exaggerated nod as she approached the wall of the structure. Redwood saw that her fists were clenched and figured what she was about to do. He made only one step toward her when Buchanan punched the wall out of anger, which made her wince in pain and knell.
"Gabby! What the hell are you doing?"
"Those lying motherfuckers." she muttered amid heavy breathing.
"Who? Oceanside? The specialists?"
"No...the association."
"Wha—? I don't follow."
Buchanan stood up and faced him.
"In 1991, the ATA mandated that all tanks who wish to remain compliant in matches have their carbon linings replaced with ones improved by the new formula. Yet, our SU-100, which had its lining replaced by a service partnered with the ATA, got the old lining FIVE years ago! Why?!"
"It could've been a mistake made by the specialists. I imagine that the carbon protection made in the 80s and those made last week are indistinguishable in appearance."
"Well, that's one big fucking mistake to make!"
"You need to cool off, Gabby."
"Cool off? How can hell can I do that when there are potentially hundreds of tanks nationwide with defective linings?! There are people at risk and they don't even know it!
"Gabby, the last time the carbon protection failed was when it happened to you! What happened to us could have been just an isolated incident."
Buchanan breathed and took a look at her hand. She extended her fingers. No broken bones, thankfully. Still, the pain was pulsating.
"Martin, I get you're trying to help and I pray that you're right but...you don't know the association as I do. You don't know just how shitty the inner workings of that organization is."
Redwood got close and held her injured hand and caressed it gently. She winced slightly in pain but didn't stop him.
"You're right. I don't know the association as much as you do. But, don't you think after twenty years that things didn't change?"
"If what I fear is right, then they haven't changed a bit."
Redwood gave her a kiss on her forehead.
"We'll get to the bottom of this."
They shared a hug.
"Now, let's get some ice on that hand."